


When I Was Young

by phantomhivemast3r



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Gen, Minor Violence, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhivemast3r/pseuds/phantomhivemast3r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Does anyone ever wonder about me, though? About my past, and why I am the way I am? ...My story starts before I even met Crona, before I knew just what exactly it meant to have 'black blood.'"<br/>This is the story of how Ragnarok came to find himself inside a young Meister's bloodstream, told from the perspective of The Demon Sword himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Was Young

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this story way back in 2011, but I decided to go through some of my older fanfics and give them a little update! The story is the same, but the writing (and all aspects related to it) are more up-to-date with my current writing style. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fresh take on Ragnarok's past- a topic that not many people have chosen to explore!

** When I Was Young **

** Part One **

Yo. You probably know me first and foremost as the Demon Sword but, in case you were wondering, my preferred name is Ragnarok. I’m sure you know all about my Meister’s past- about how his mother was an evil witch who infused him with black blood and tried to use him to bring about the end of world, but he was stopped by "the beauty of friendship" and blah, blah, _blah_...

Yeah, that’s not news to you, right?

Does anyone ever wonder about _me_ , though? About _my_ past, and why I am the way I am? And no, my off-putting streak of insanity isn't caused solely by the fact that Crona’s a whiny little baby and I constantly have to beat him up to keep him on the right track.

No, my story starts before I even met him, before I knew just what exactly it meant to have “black blood.”

It all started when I was thirteen years old.

*                            *                                  *

My whole life, I’ve never been good at dealing with other people.

No matter how hard I tried, people would either avoid me or make fun of me. From the hushed whispers that parents would say to their children as they ushered them away, I gathered that my entire existence could be defined in three words: weird, creepy, and unnerving.

Oh, one thing you should know about me before I continue- I wasn’t always the black substance that lives in Crona’s bloodstream. I used to be completely different, actually, not just a melted-down mess of magic, power, and blood.

I used to be human.

I can still remember what I looked like- a pale, scrawny kid with dark eyes and a permanent scowl. My most prominent feature, though, was definitely my hair. It was a deep black that looked almost purple-tinted in the light, but the most interesting part about it was the striking white “X” in the center. The four sides of the “X” started from the tips of four distinct chunks of hair and went all the way up to join together at the very top of my head. By age three, it already looked like I'd gotten one of those cheesy, 90s-style hairdos that just screamed "annoying partygoer." No matter how long I grew my hair, cut it short, or tried to dye the white out, those four sides always joined together at the top.

Naturally, since this was so unusual, it was constantly a source of interest to everyone I met. Everyone thought I’d dyed the white “X” onto the black, but when I tried to explain that it was natural, they didn’t believe me. Not even my parents knew why I’d been born with such a weird physical feature.

Though, as you can probably assume, it wasn't just an odd hairstyle that made people avoid me like the plague. I was the only weapon in a neighborhood of normal humans. Kids stayed away from me because their parents told them that I was dangerous. Of course, I was perfectly in control of my abilities; it’s not like I was going to just transform into a sword the second somebody ticked me off. But there was no way to convince the other adults of this; even my parents’ efforts went unrewarded... which shows you how willing some grown-ups are to accept someone who's "different."

...But I digress. That topic is for another time.

Oh, and yes, for those of you who are wondering, I _do_ have parents. Or, at least, I _did_. Who knows if they’re still alive now, after all these years...

Anyway, they were wonderful people, and I loved them with all my heart.

I know what you’re thinking: Ragnarok, the psychotic Demon Sword, capable of _love?_ Puh- _lease!_

But it’s true- I _did_ love them, and anyone who knew me back then could’ve told you so. No matter what others said about me, whether directly to my face or whispered behind my back, my parents stuck by my side, and even defended me when people’s distrust turned to outright anger and violence.

You see, the people who _weren’t_ totally afraid of me took it upon themselves to make my life a miserable hell. I would constantly have things thrown at me, and I was often beaten up by the local gang of “Ragnarok-haters,” as I liked to call them.

Yes, I was a child when this happened. Yes, everything I'm saying is true. And yes, the world can be a cruel, cruel place.

Pretty big difference from how I am now, huh? When I was young, _I_ was actually the one being bullied, instead of the other way around. Crona thinks that that’s the reason I’m so mean to him- that now that I’ve found someone weaker than me, I’m taking out all my pent up revenge on him.

Ha! Even if that _is_ true, it’s not like I’d ever _admit_ that to him, the damn idiot...

Anyway, to make a long story short, no one but my parents really liked me when I was a kid.

...And people wonder why I’m so twisted.

But all that’s just background. I’m sure the _real_ thing you want to know about is how in the messed-up world I ended up inside Crona’s bloodstream.

*                            *                                  *

Like I said before, it all started when I was thirteen- a few days after my birthday, in fact. That was when I had my first encounter with Medusa.

I was walking home after once again being roughed up by the Ragnarok-haters. I spit out a bit of blood and wiped my mouth off on my hand, glaring at the liquid as it stained my skin black.

Oh, duh, I probably should've mentioned that sooner...

That was another one of my quirks- the black blood. Instead of it being the normal, bright red, it had _always_ been a disgusting black. The first time I’d gotten a cut and my parents had seen the dark liquid spilling down my knee, they’d rushed me to a hospital, fearing that I’d somehow gotten a horrible disease and was going to keel over any second. I had to go through every test imaginable, but the results were all the same: the doctors could find absolutely nothing wrong with me, save for the strange color of my blood. After a few months of constant observation in the hospital, they finally released me, telling me that the black blood didn’t act any differently than normal blood and that they didn’t think it would have any negative effects on me in the near future. (By the way, it didn’t get that useful ability to turn hard as a rock until later on, so... hooray for bodily changes.)

Of course, I tried my best to hide the fact that my blood was black. People were already concerned enough about the fact that I was a weapon; they didn’t need _another_ reason to dislike me. But, sure enough, my secret was soon found out (after I’d accidentally scratched myself while climbing a tree), and people became even _more_ wary of me.

But I’m getting off-topic; I was talking about meeting Medusa for the first time.

So I was walking home after another bad day, when I got the feeling that I was being followed. I turned around, but no one was there. Frowning, I took a step forward and promptly ran into someone who I _knew_ hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Oops, my bad,” I apologized.

“It’s no problem at all,” the person said, and I looked up to find a woman standing there. She was wearing a black, hooded jumpsuit with what looked two eyes on the sides of the hood. Her golden hair was tied in the front, and she had strange tattoos that wrapped around her arms. Obviously, she's been fashion-forward from day one.

“I’ve never seen _you_ around here before,” I commented. Once word had spread that a weapon with black blood was living in the area, people tended to stay away if they could help it. “Are you lookin' for someone?”

The woman’s face split into a grin that reminded me of a hungry predator staring down its next meal. I started to shift my feet uncomfortably.

“Yes, actually,” the woman (guess who) replied. She took a step towards me. “I’ve been looking for _you_ , Ragnarok- The Demon Sword.”

“Um... what?" I questioned, still not liking the way she was smiling at me. My thirteen-year-old composure was quickly slipping; I could feel myself going into defensive mode. “’Demon Sword?’ What the hell does _that_ mean? _”_

“Oh, you haven’t heard that name before?” The woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but I could tell that the emotion was fake; she was perfectly aware that I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Nope,” I snapped. “I have to get home. ‘Scuse me.” I tried to push past her, but she grabbed my arm. I whirled around, glaring at her. “Hey, what's your _problem?!”_

“Please, just give me a moment to explain,” she said, tightening her grip as I tried to jerk my arm out of her grasp. “I know all about you, Ragnarok; about how you can turn into a sword... about your black blood.”

I narrowed my eyes. Her creep-factor was off the charts, but she had a firm grip on me. Everyone in the neighborhood knew about my black blood, sure, but why was a complete stranger suddenly stopping me to talk about it?

“...How do you know about that?” I asked suspiciously, still trying to get my arm free. She just chuckled darkly.

“I’ve been doing some research. You're much more special than you realize, you know. One day, you can become the greatest weapon in the world, if you choose, and I can help you reach that goal. If you’ll let me, that is.”

I snorted, not believing a word she was saying. I figured she must’ve been one of those crazy people that live on the streets or something that my parents had warned me about. I gave my arm another tug, but the woman refused to let go. I growled in annoyance.

“Look, lady, who _are_ you?!” I yelled, vainly hoping that someone would hear my raised voice and at least check to see what was wrong, if not help me. The woman blinked.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I was so excited about finally getting a chance to talk to you that I forgot to introduce myself!” she said. She waved a hand over the ground and then slowly let go of my arm. “You can refer to me as Lady Medusa, and...”

I tried to dart down the sidewalk, but I was instantly thrown back by some unseen force. It felt like I’d run straight into an invisible wall, and I landed on my back on the cement. Medusa leaned over me menacingly.

“I’m a witch!” she laughed, and my eyes widened. My parents had warned me about witches; they were nothing but trouble. No wonder this lady was giving me bad vibes...

I quickly scrambled to my feet and attempted another escape, but I was once again thrown back. Medusa continued to laugh as I repeated this process several more times, only to be constantly knocked off my feet.

“You can’t run away,” she told me as I lay on the ground, breathing heavily, beginning to realize that any escape attempts were pointless. “You’re laying on one of my Dark Arrows; anytime you try to get away, you’ll just be thrown back to me.”

“What do you want from me?!” I asked, trying my best to glare, but I have to admit I _was_ getting a little scared. I mean, really, how often is it that a witch comes personally calling for you?

“Like I said before, I just want to help you,” Medusa replied. She held out her hand to me. “I can teach you all the things you need to know to become the most powerful weapon in the world. Then you can take revenge on all those mean kids who bully you, wouldn’t that be nice?”

I stared at her hand a moment, debating if she was really telling the truth. After a few seconds I stood up on my own, ignoring her hand.

“I don’t trust you,” I spat. “How the hell can you expect me to believe that you won’t just kidnap me and use me for some horrible experiment or something?! You're crazy!”

Just for a split-second, Medusa’s mouth twitched up into a devilish grin, but she wiped it off her face so fast that I couldn't be sure I had actually seen it.

“I’m not going to kidnap you,” Medusa said. “Listen, I’ll tell you what; you can have tonight to think it over. Tomorrow, I’ll send my son to see if you’d like to have another chat with me, about your mysterious black blood and your untapped abilities. Haven’t you ever wondered about it, and why only _you_ seem to possess it?”

“Well, yeah,” I muttered, but then I quickly shook my head and gave Medusa the most defiant stare a kid like me could muster. “But I still don’t trust you.”

“Well, that’s fine. Like I said, think it over tonight, and I’ll have my son get your answer tomorrow. He’ll be the boy with the pink hair and the distressed expression.”

She waved her hand over the ground again and I felt a whoosh of air. I looked down and saw that the Dark Arrow previously on the pavement was nowhere to be found.

“Now, hurry home, Ragnarok,” Medusa said, smiling again. “You don’t want to be late for dinner.”

I didn’t move for a few seconds, and Medusa waved me away, gesturing like it would be okay for me to leave. Cautiously, I took a step back. When I wasn’t knocked of my feet, I took another and another, until I turned around and was running as fast as I could down the sidewalk, ready to get inside my nice, warm house as soon as possible.

Now, as I think about what Medusa said to me that day, I realize something: she told me that she wasn’t going to kidnap me, but she never said anything about the “horrible experiment” part.

If only I’d realized this little detail when I was a kid.

Things could have been so much better.


End file.
